


Home for the Holidays

by rufus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Snupin Santa 2006, Snupin Santa Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufus/pseuds/rufus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-War fic in which Remus Lupin has a job cleaning Dark creatures and various other pests out of homes, and gets a last minute rush-job just before Christmas. When he arrives at the house, it turns out Severus Snape is there too, and he's also been brought in to clean the house. At the end of the day, they go out for a pint; shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> For Violetfishy, who submitted the following prompt: Post-war fic in which Snape has disappeared from the wizarding world and Lupin runs into him years later. I'll leave it to the author to decide where Snape has been and why. Lupin persuades Snape to go for a quick drink and they end up talking about a time during the war when they thought they were going to die and Snape kissed Lupin. Lupin wants to know why...
> 
> Beta'd by artifx and imwithharvey, who tamed my run-on sentences and prevented excessive comma abuse. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Warnings: Remus has a PTSD-induced flashback to the war.

"This is Glenda Chittock of the Wizarding Wireless Network, and you're listening to the Witching Hour Christmas Special," the announcer said, as Remus scooped up a handful of cloves out of the bowl on the table next to him and dropped them into his lap. "I've made my list, I've checked it twice, and we're going to start off today's show with something a little bit _naughty_ – ladies and gentlemen, it's Stubby Boardman and the Hobgoblins with the number one Christmas song from 1977, _God Rest Ye Merry Hippogryffs_ ," she continued, as Remus Summoned an orange from the kitchen and began to press the cloves into it, humming quietly to himself. He had just finished the first curve of a Celtic knot when the fireplace crackled to life, and Romilda McLaggen's face appeared, surrounded by green flames. 

"Mister Lupin? Are you there?" she said, her voice irritated but her face oddly expressionless, and he caught a glimpse of scarlet lips and kohl-lined eyes as she moved her head. He turned down the volume on the wireless with a wave of his wand, floated the cloves back into the bowl, and moved to kneel by the fire. 

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. McLaggen," he said, resting a hand on the grate. "How can I help?"

"It _is_ a happy Christmas, Mr. Lupin," she said, arching both of her eyebrows. "We've finally flogged the property in Surrey, the one in Epsom, that's been on the market for ages – and to Ishmael Corey, as well, you may have heard of him? – Beater for the Finches, and a friend of Cormac's, of course. Anyway, he's giving it to his fiancée for Christmas." Remus made what he hoped was an appreciative noise before settling into a cross-legged position more suited to weathering a barrage of dropped names. He _liked_ Romilda well enough, now that she had grown up a bit, but sometimes she made him very tired.

"Does he want a big red bow tied 'round the chimney?" he asked, rolling the orange back and forth in his hands, and she gave him a pained look.

"Mmm, well, yes," she said, blinking rapidly. "The house was a disaster – bundimuns all over the cellar and doxies in every scrap of the soft furnishings," she added, and he was certain she was trying to frown, but for some reason her face wouldn't co-operate. 

"I've had the regular cleaners in, to get the worst of it, but they've refused to go _near_ the cases in the parlours and the study, or to even set foot in the nursery," she barreled on, pushing back a stray lock of black hair. "And, well, long story short, Ishmael was very keen on Gilderoy having a look-in – he's a big fan – and I said that would be fine, naturally, but when I, ah, Floo'd his – when I Floo'd Gilderoy, he said he was all booked up. Run off his feet, poor thing, what with the holidays and the new book tour – I've Floo'd a few other people as well –"

"I'll have to check my diary, but I think I have some time open after Hogmanay," Remus said, pressing down a spike of irritation at being the third or fourth choice as a stand-in for _Gilderoy Lockhart_ , and gave the orange a gentle squeeze. 

"Oh _no_ ," she said, coughing delicately. "It'll have to be _this_ weekend, I'm afraid. Ishmael wants the house for Christmas–their Portkeys from New York are already booked, they're arriving at noon on Christmas Day," she said, her lips twitching again. "Glockenspiel Shilling from Gray's is coming through first thing to touch up my face – this is _such_ an awkward season for wrinkles, it really is, I had them do an extra strong charm this morning and it's already wearing off – and then Cormac and I are going to collect them from Heathrow, and it's straight home for tea."

"This weekend?" he repeated, and she gave him another almost-frown. "But –" _No wonder everyone else turned it down, it's almost Christmas, I have plans – shopping to do –_

"It isn't a problem, is it?" she asked, biting her lip. "Only they're very good clients, you know, and we do rely on you –" she began, and he suppressed a sigh. Romilda had been understanding in the past when he had to turn down jobs because of the full moon, and it would not do him any good to annoy her.

"No," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. "No, it isn't a problem." His plans could be re-arranged; Minerva would be disappointed, but Molly and Arthur would understand. Although, depending on the actual state of the house (Romilda's cleaning crews were notoriously skittish), it was possible he would be done in time to make a quick pass through Diagon Alley and then stop by the Burrow for some Christmas pudding. 

"Good," she said, and almost managed a real smile. "Now – I've booked a room at the Dragonhead Inn from tonight through Christmas Eve. You'll get your usual rate, of course, plus a percentage for the rush, and expenses – you can Floo me at home once you're settled and I'll send Jezebelle through with the contracts," she added, and he nodded. "But there is, ah, one _tiny catch_ –" she said, biting her lip again, and Remus arched one eyebrow at her. The last job he'd done for her – a stately home in Hampshire – the "tiny catch" had been two half-feral fwoopers that the previous owner had left uncharmed because he liked them better that way.

"Right, it's nothing really dreadful," she said. "It's just that the purchase was _meant_ to be a surprise, but the fiancée – it's Pansy Parkinson, by the way – found out somehow and she's sent an international express owl to say she's booked her own Defense expert, the wee cow. Gilderoy wasn't good enough for her, can you imagine?" she said, in an outraged tone, and Remus blinked a couple of times, absorbing that information.  
"Anyone I might know?" he asked, bringing the orange up to his face and inhaling deeply, and Romilda made a faint huffing noise.

"Mmmm, she didn't mention a name, just that he's coming over from France, I think – let me just check her letter," she said, and there was a pause while she riffled through her papers. "Yes, here it is: 'Expert of many years standing, old friend of the family' – hers, I suppose – 'please send all the relevant documents to the Malaclaw's Arms in Portsmouth, care of my father' –you get the idea. Anyway, there's plenty of work, so it's not a worry, really." Her eyes widened briefly, and he heard someone calling her in the background. 

"Right – sorry, must dash – we're trying to organize an open-house for the Gloucestershire property. Ishmael has a mate on the team who might like it, you know," she added, in a hushed tone, and Remus smiled faintly. "Happy Christmas!" she trilled, and then she was gone.

**

"Right old pile, isn't it?" Ernie said, squinting out the window at the large stone house looming above them, half-obscured by swirling snow. Remus made a noise of agreement as he stood up and pulled his scarf up over his nose. 

"You'll want to cast a good strong heating charm sharpish, I reckon," he added, popping the door open.

"Happy Christmas, Ernie," Remus said, and stepped out, hunching his shoulders against the wind. The windows and doors were hung with greenery, and – were those multi-coloured blinking fairy-lights peeking through the shrubbery? _Poor things must be freezing_ , he thought, and cast a combination warming spell and Cheering Charm towards them as he picked his way up the front path, careful to avoid slipping on a patch of ice.

"Puffskein in a Pear Tree," he said to the lock on the front door, stomping on the mat to shake the snow off of his shoes. It swung open slowly, the cobra-head knocker plinking out the tune with a murderous look in its eyes.

"Brrr, it's _cold_ outside," someone said, and he looked down to see a wooden snow-wizard in 19th century robes, complete with red velvet cloak and top hat, peering up at him. "I _like_ gingerbread biscuits," it continued, rocking back on its tiny heels when he shut the door behind him.

The house was warmer than he had expected, and smelled strongly of cleaning products, fir trees and cinnamon sugar. By the light of the red and green candles floating near the ceiling, he could see that Romilda's people had been busy; the black marble floor was gleaming, and every surface in the room bore some sort of Christmas decoration. Even the graphorn-foot umbrella stand had a red bow tied around it. _Ugh_ , he thought, as he set his rucksack on the floor, and unwound his scarf from around his head. 

"I think hot cider is _delicious_ , would you like some?" the snow-wizard said, tugging on his cloak. It was then that he noticed the folded piece parchment jammed in the outstretched hand of the Goblin Claus statue at the end of the banister; it had Gilderoy Lockhart's name written on it in spiky black script. He took his gloves off, tucked them under his arm and wriggled the note loose, thinking decidedly un-seasonal thoughts about celebrity-obsessed estate agents as he did so.

_Lockhart – You're late. I await you in the study. Please silence that wretched thing by the door before you come through. S. Snape_

_Severus?_ he thought, frowning faintly (he had been expecting to find Draco Malfoy glowering at him, or perhaps Theodore Nott) and re-read the parchment. On closer inspection the handwriting _was_ very familiar, and the note certainly _sounded_ like Snape. But Snape hadn't been seen in Britain, or anywhere else in the Wizarding world, for almost ten years. _But, well,_ Remus thought, as he slid the parchment into his pocket, and shrugged out of his cloak, _it's not like any of us were really looking for him anymore._ He draped his outer things over the banister, being careful not to disturb any of the sparkly tinsel. 

"Would you like to sing a _carol_ with me?" the snow-wizard said, bouncing on his toes, "I know a lot of lovely old tunes –"

"Not today, thank you," Remus said, and murmured a quick Silencio under his breath before slinging his rucksack over one shoulder and pushing open the door on his left. _Looks just like the Slytherin Common Room_ , Remus thought, taking in the runespoor-themed wallpaper, the heavy, dark furniture, and the faded green and black Axminster carpet. There were a few wood and glass cases full of dusty figurines against one wall, and next to the fireplace was an enormous Christmas tree dripping in silver tinsel and green glass balls, surrounded by a small lake of gaily wrapped parcels. 

_Well, at least nothing in here **talks**_ , he thought as he adjusted his rucksack and knocked softly on the door to the study. When there was no response, he knocked louder, and the door popped open, revealing a large, book-filled room. There was a mahogany desk in the center of the room, and several leather chairs scattered in front of the black marble fireplace. Severus Snape was sitting at the desk wearing black dragon hide gloves, his wand in one hand and something small and glittery in the other, surprise and irritation warring for dominance on his face.

There was a pause while they looked at each other; Remus let his hands fall to his sides, and Snape set his wand down on the desk, sat back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. _You've gone grey_ , Remus thought, noting the purple smudges under Snape's eyes and the looseness of his black woolen robes. _If it is you, and not Polyjuice._

"Lupin," Snape said after a while, his voice rougher than Remus remembered. "This is . . . unexpected. I will have to let Miss Parkinson know her intelligence was faulty. Or perhaps Lockhart has met with another unhappy accident?" he added, arching one slender black eyebrow. 

"Not that I've heard," Remus said. Snape's eyes went out of focus, and he felt a faint, gentle _push_ at the corner of his mind, and a memory of the taste of Wolfsbane ( _my last transformation_ ) rolled through his mouth. _Fuck off_ , he thought, and was pleased to see Snape blink twice when he replied with a firm _shove_. Before Snape threw him out he caught a glimpse of a grey house on a narrow, cobble-stoned street with blue-grey water sparkling in the distance ( _home_ ). "Though the party-floo's been buzzing with the news that he spilled some pink sparkly ink on himself the last time he was signing autographs in Flourish and Blotts. Ruined his favourite silk robes, apparently," he smiled, careful to keep his tone light. The attempt at Legilimency was vaguely reassuring, but still, Remus wanted to be _certain_.

"I hear you're in France, these days," Remus said, moving closer to the desk. "How do you like it? Have you had any decent _truffles_ recently?" 

Remus cocked his head to one side, and tightened his grip on his wand. It was part of the code the Order had used as the end of the war drew near – and a long shot – but the real Snape would recognize it. There was a pause, and then Snape scowled and muttered something that might have been _Merlin be-damned blabbermouths._

"When it suits my purposes, yes, I am in France," Snape said, setting the piece of jewelry on the desk. "I have been assisting young Mr. Malfoy with managing what remains of his grandfather's business, among other things, and as you know I prefer _nougat_ , as it is far superior, as a sweet." Remus exhaled quietly as a wave of relief washed over him. "And you? Freezing your heroic toes off at Hogwarts with Miss Tonks, I presume?" Snape asked, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

"No," Remus murmured, and permitted himself a small sigh. "Tonks is in Romania, raising dragons with Charlie Weasley. As for me, well, Umbridge is still . . . active . . . in the Ministry. But, you know, some work does come my way – musn't grumble." Remus turned away to look at the massive Crèche of Magical Creatures that was sitting on the floor next to the fire. The centaur by the manger was glaring at baby Merlin rather ferociously, he noticed, and the Wise Goblins were holding their gifts as if they were preparing to use them as weapons.

"I see," Snape said, softly, and Remus turned to look at him again. "I won't keep you, Lupin. You'll find the nursery at the top of the stairs, I believe," he added, bending to his work.

**

"Good evening, lovelies! This is Madrigal Skillet, it's half-six on the second-to-last shopping day before Christmas, and you're listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network Top 100 Christmas Countdown!" the announcer said, as Remus pushed the kitchen door open, and walked past Snape to stand next to the blazing hearth. It had been a long day, full of exsanguinating figurines and a cot that had tried to chew his hand off, and his hips and knees had begun to ache from the cold. "This next song, coming in at number twenty-five this year, is one we all know by heart. So pour yourself a cup of wassail and join me in singing along with the one, the only, the vampire from the Valleys –" she continued, and Remus made a face as the opening notes of _Christmas Grimoire_ filled the room.

"If you fall into the fire, werewolf, I _will_ let you burn," Snape said from his place at the table, running a hand over the parchment in front of him and dipping the tip of his quill into a tiny inkpot, but there was no heat in his tone. In fact, aside from a few pointed comments about Remus' lunch – apparently he disapproved of potted meat _and_ Red Leicester cheese – he had been fairly quiet all day, almost verging on _pleasant_. Remus was not sure if he should be relieved or deeply suspicious; he had ruled out Polyjuice, but not Imperious, after all. Though why anyone would want to squash Severus Snape's free will and send him back to Britain to be _nice_ to people was a bit beyond him at the moment.

"Of course, Severus," Remus said, stifling a yawn, and braced his shoulders against the mantle before pulling his robes forward, away from the flames. _That's better_ , he thought, and allowed himself to be soothed by the faint _swish_ of the snow against the windows and the _scritch scratch_ of quill over parchment. _Christmas Grimoire_ faded into _Veelas We Have Heard on High_ and he smiled, the warmth at his back chasing away memories of time spent with Snape in chilly caves and dirty rented rooms, jumping at every thump and rustle, waiting for Death to kick down the door. _We survived, Severus; we should celebrate_ , he thought, watching Snape scatter sand over his parchment with one hand and spell it clean with the other, before rolling it up and sealing it with red wax. 

"Would you like to come for a drink, Severus?" he asked, and Snape gave him a wary look. "I'm at the Dragonhead," he added, moving away from the fire, pushing the door open to the foyer and Summoning his rucksack, cloak, scarf and gloves with a wave of his wand. "It's in the center of town, and a bit awkward, really. We'd have to take the Knight Bus; their Floo is always engaged, and there's no good place to Apparate. But I saw a couple of casks of decent stout on my way out this morning." 

"That would be acceptable, I suppose," Snape said, after a lengthy pause, sliding the rolled up parchment into his valise, and Remus' stomach flipped over in an entirely inappropriate manner. _Stop that right now_ , he told himself, as Snape gathered up his things and settled his cloak around his shoulders. _It was one kiss, ten years ago. There was a war on. It meant nothing._ He followed Snape out into the still-swirling snow.

**

"So," Remus said, as the witch behind the bar slid one pint glass under the spigot of the keg marked _Thor's Hammer Porter_ and another one under a smaller cask marked _Circe's Cream Stout_ , and Snape turned to look at him, his eyebrows slightly raised. "When did the Parkinsons move to America?"

"They didn't," Snape said, shifting his gaze upwards, as if he were very, very interested in the popcorn garlands wound around the ears and snout of the glassy-eyed Welsh Green mounted above the bar. "Miss Parkinson is currently wasting her considerable potential writing for one the dreadful magazines that used to fawn all over Potter, and she – well – she made a series of miscalculations, was what John said." _Witch Weekly or Dragon Beat?_ Remus thought, as the bartender slid their drinks across the counter, and followed Snape to a table in the corner of the mostly-deserted taproom.

"Oh?" he murmured, as Snape sat down with his back to the wall, and moved the other chair so he, too could have a good view of the door. He mostly remembered Pansy Parkinson as a permanent ruby red sneer behind an eagle feather quill or as a pale, eyebrowless face at Crabbe's bedside. "What sort of bet did she lose, then?" he asked, and had to take a drink of his stout to hide a smile at Snape's indignant expression.

"She was forced to take on an assignment that had been neglected by one of her subordinates," Snape said, narrowing his eyes, "which led to her spending an extended amount of time with Mr. Corey. He is a buffoon, of course, but she has . . . grown attached to him," he added, pinching his lips together.

"Mmm," Remus said, and picked up the menu card on the table, trying to hide the fact that he wasn't quite sure what to do next. He turned the card over in his hand, half composing his next question, half listening to the couple at the next table over complain about their grandchildren – he caught something about _porlock shares_ and _cologne that smells of niffler piss_ – and then the front door popped open. 

Remus dropped the card, his hand closing around his wand automatically, and heard a faint creaking noise as Snape shifted beside him. He counted seven snow-dusted cloaked figures before the door closed; two of them were singing _I Saw Three Brooms_ slightly off-key amid stamping feet and the fwoosh of drying charm being applied. _Filthy night for caroling_ , he thought, watching them walk the length of the bar, and Snape muttered something about _bloody holidays_ under his breath.

"How was the panto, then, Basil?" the bartender asked, adjusting the tilt of her Santa hat and picking up a bottle off the shelf behind the bar, and the witch next to them launched into story about Our Elfrida.

"Well," Basil said, heaving a long-suffering sigh, "Senga forgot half her lines in the first act, then Yolanda tripped over her petticoats and almost fell off the stage altogether, and as a capper Nigel lost his wig on his way over, somehow, and we had to use the spare from the props cupboard." He turned slightly to look at the others behind him, and flipped his hood back.

_red eyes glowing in a pale face snake around his neck, the forked tongue stuck out, unmoving_

"Bloody _hell_ ," Snape said, quite loudly, and the figure turned to look at them, the expression of surprise on its – his – face almost funny. _No_ , Remus thought, vaguely aware of Severus standing up and the older witch shrieking as he rolled to his feet and moved forward ( _not resurrected, not Inferius, how?_ ) and _reached_ –

\--Voldemort ducked, and he followed, ignoring the people shouting at them and the odd little spikes of pain coming from his bad knee ( _have to catch him, have to bring him to Harry_ ) and he was close, so close, he could feel the rough fabric in his hand, one more step—

"That'll do, lad," someone said, the voice older and male ( _not Snape_ ), and he tried to turn his head to explain ( _Harry has to kill him again_ ) and found he couldn't, he was stuck facing the bar, and Voldemort was coming closer, closer ( _Harry used the Killing Curse, Neville took your head and heart, and Luna cast the fires to burn them. **How are you still alive?**_ ) He closed his eyes briefly and searched for the edges of the spell and stretched, trying to get free, but there wasn't any give –

"Merlin's sake, do you not have any proper lighting in here?" Snape growled, and the candles floating above the bar blazed up, illuminating the tufts of blond hair poking out around Voldemort's ears, and a sharp line where the skin changed to a healthy pink just beneath his jaw. _Not Voldemort_ , Remus thought, as more people started talking. He caught _That's Severus **fucking** Snape_ and _Didn't he die_? before someone cleared their throat loudly, and the room fell silent.

"I'm going to turn you loose now, mind you behave yourself," said the unfamiliar male voice, and then Remus was able to turn his head and see it was the wizard from the next table over that was peering at him, wearing a sympathetic expression. There were other people nearby as well, and he was so _hot_ and everything smelled of burning wool –

"I'm sorry," he managed, as the room started to spin. Then there were several hands on him, and someone – Severus? – pulled a chair out so he could sit down. 

"McLaggen said you were _safe_ ," the bartender said, a flinty edge to her voice, and that was when the shouting started – mostly Snape, but there were other voices, too. Remus dropped his head into his hands and thought about breathing until he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder and squeeze gently. When he looked up, the older wizard sat down next to him, and handed him a shot of whiskey.

"Don't worry about it, lad – I was in the trenches at the Somme and I still feel a bit funny when the Christmas crackers go off," he said, as Remus closed his fingers around the glass and tipped the contents down his throat. "That's it, drink up, you'll be right in no time," he murmured, his eyes twinkling ( _so like Albus_ ) and for one horrible moment Remus thought he might cry. The older wizard patted his hand gently and stood up, settling his robes with a quick shake of his shoulders. "Here's your mate to look after you now, hmm?" he said, cocking his head to one side.

"Come along, Lupin, I'll see you to your rooms," Snape said, sounding annoyed. Remus stood up and allowed himself to be steered towards the stairs, intensely aware of being both watched and discussed. _Well done, Lupin, you've made a spectacle of yourself **again**_ , he thought, as they reached the landing, and began walking towards his room. Snape trailed behind him like a malevolent border collie, their drinks floating by his elbow.

"I'm sorry to have ruined your evening, Severus," Remus said, sometime later, once they were settled, himself sitting on the bed and Snape perched stiffly in a chair by the fire, the crackling flames highlighting the hollows in his face and the sharp jut of his jaw. "I'm all right, really –" _Since it is not actually possible to die of shame._

"I would not have expected any less from a Gryffindor; though it was not . . . entirely . . . your fault," Snape said, and took a sip of his porter "The last time I saw him was in Slough," Snape murmured, setting his pint glass on his knee, "the night before Potter arrived."

"Yes," Remus said, pressing the heel of his right palm against the ridges of his eyes, "In that horrible little motel with the mouldy towels in the loo," he muttered, letting his hand fall into his lap. He took another drink of his stout, savouring the sweetness of it, and sighed softly. The night before Harry arrived had been a very long night indeed; he had spent the first half of it shepherding several nervous teenagers across Britain with Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange in hot pursuit, and the last half huddled in a closet under Harry's Invisibility Cloak with Snape, listening to Voldemort pontificating about his battle strategy to Lucius Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange. _And snogging_ , said a small voice in the back of his head, _you were doing that, too_ , and he smiled in spite of himself.

"And let us not forget the bloodstains on the carpet by the bed, or the nest of spiders in the closet," Snape said, wrinkling his nose. "Though I suppose they were useful, in the end."

"Mmm," Remus said, because it was the spiders – or rather, throwing the spiders at Malfoy – that had bought them enough time to Apparate to safety when the door to their hiding place opened unexpectedly. They had been kissing at the time, recklessly clashing noses and clicking teeth, oblivious to the sound of the footsteps until it was almost too late. Noticing the distant expression on Snape's face ( _are you remembering the kiss too?_ ), Remus took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. _Now or never_ , he thought, _because really, this night can't actually become **more** awkward._

"Why did you kiss me, Severus?" Remus asked, and Snape blinked at him twice before shifting his gaze to the floor.

"I was . . . I wanted to see if you tasted of Darkness. All of the books on werewolves are silent on the subject," Snape said, after a while. _I see_ , Remus thought, and set his glass on the floor. _That's a new one._

"Ah . . . did I?" he asked ( _what does Darkness taste like, anyway?_ ) and Snape gave him a one-shouldered shrug. 

"Mostly you tasted of black licorice, which I despise, and those vile crisps you were eating," Snape said, still not looking up, "it was so disgusting I – couldn't make a proper evaluation," he sniffed.

Remus opened his mouth to apologize but "Would you like another go?" came out instead. There was a long silence, and when Snape finally raised his head Remus was both startled and gratified to see a flash of hunger in his expression before it shifted to reflect neutral amusement. "I can go and clean my teeth," Remus said, absently. "My toothpaste is mint, will that put you off?"

"A cleaning spell would be flavourless, and allow for more precise results," Snape said, softly, and then Remus felt magic ripple over his tongue and gums as he moved to stand next to Snape's chair. 

"Ready?" Snape said, standing up. Remus nodded, though he was sure Snape could see how his heart was pounding. _First attacking strangers, and now snogging Snape? Have you completely lost your mind? What are you **doing?**_ he thought, and then narrow fingers curled around the nape of his neck and Snape was kissing him, gently at first, and then more insistently, his tongue gliding over Remus' teeth and palate, his teeth occasionally nipping at Remus' lips. Overwhelmed, Remus curled his hands in Snape's robes and held on, breathing through his nose until he was released.

"Well?" he said, when Snape seemed to have caught his breath. He could feel his skin tingling and his cock starting to grow plump, and there was a pink tinge to Snape's pale face. _That was good_ , he thought, _I want to do that again._

"I couldn't possibly make an evaluation using only one sample," Snape said, "that would be unconscionably sloppy research." He gathered Remus in for another, much longer kiss; by the end Remus was sprawled across Snape's lap, and they were both trembling. _Oh Merlin, now what?_ Remus thought, torn between getting up and returning to the bed and risking Snape's wrath by letting his head drop on to his shoulder. He was gathering himself to stand when Snape moved beneath him, drawing them both deeper into the chair. 

"You do not taste of Darkness, but you do have a very bony arse," Snape murmured, and settled a hand on Remus' waist. 

"Sorry," Remus muttered, and tried to stand up again; to his surprise Snape tightened his grip. "Do you have any other, ah, research you would like to conduct?" he asked ( _in for a sickle in for a fucking galleon_ ), as a tiny bubble of hope inflated in his stomach.

"You are . . . amenable?" Snape asked, his dark eyes unreadable, and Remus nodded.

"All right," Snape murmured, and waved his wand at the door to seal it shut. "Remove your clothes." Remus stood up and started to undress, the familiar rhythm of undoing buttons and snaps distracting him from the strangeness of the situation. Of all of the ways he had expected the evening to go, _this_ was not one of them.

"Sit down on the bed, please," Snape said, when Remus had made a tidy stack out of his robes and topped it with his wand. He settled down on top of the slightly scratchy brocade duvet and watched Snape strip down with quick, precise movements. He was thin, but not painfully so, and the ripple of muscle on his stomach and the gentle curve of his arse made Remus' breath catch in his throat. Snape's shoulders stiffened at that, but he approached the bed anyway, wand in hand, his expression more thoughtful than annoyed.

_Merlin, we're actually going to do this_ , Remus thought, as Snape dropped his wand on the table next to the bed, knelt on the floor in front of him, and rested a hand on Remus' bad knee, massaging the scar tissue with his fingers. His expression hadn't changed, but Remus could see tense lines forming at the edges of his mouth. 

_All right_ , Remus thought, and wiggled his feet around so he could open his knees. Snape made a pleased noise and settled both of his hands around Remus before lowering his head and taking Remus' cock into his mouth. _Oh!_ Remus thought, as he began to lick and suck, and brought a hand up to rest on Snape's head, and petting his hair in a way that he hoped felt encouraging. _So good_ , he thought, _it's been so long_. Remus sighed happily and then Snape stopped, pulling back.

"Bitter, but not unusually so," he said, rubbing his mouth with one hand, "and no magical signature that I can detect, though additional studies may be useful." Remus looked down at his crotch ( _magical signature?_ ) and then back up at Snape again. "Lie back, please," Snape said, standing up, and Remus blinked at him a couple of times before complying.

_What books have you been reading?_ Remus thought, settling back against the fluffy pillows. Snape moved to crouch on the bed, Remus' hips between his feet, one arm on each of his knees, his own half-erect cock bobbing between his thighs. They studied each other in silence until Remus slid his hands up Snape's legs and onto his hips. Snape made a startled noise and rolled forward onto his knees before lowering his head to Remus' clavicle and inhaling deeply.

"Cloves and lemons," Snape murmured, his nose wrinkling briefly, and then his hands came up and floated above Remus' shoulders, just close enough for Remus to catch an echo of heat. _What in the world?_ Remus thought, watching Snape's face tense in concentration, as the hands glided down his arms and back up again, and then returned to rest in Snape's lap. 

"Interesting," Snape muttered, and scratched himself. Before Remus could say _Interesting how?_ the hands were back – actually on him, this time, warm but a little rough – and he closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch. _Mmm_ , he thought, as Snape's hands moved up and down his arms and over his belly, fingertips occasionally brushing over his nipples, and began moving his own hands on Snape's back, counting the streaks and whorls of scar tissue as he did so. He was about to ask about one of them – an odd, starfish shaped series of raised ridges ( _what curse was it?_ ) – when Snape leaned in and kissed him again, wriggling and sliding around until Remus was laying flat on the bed with Snape between his knees, hips thrusting in an awkward rhythm and cocks sliding together.

_Oh_ , Remus thought, arching his back, as Snape's mouth moved across his face and behind his ear, _oh_ , shifting his legs slightly to pull Snape closer as the familiar pressure began to build. He was hovering right on the edge when Snape pushed up and away, his eyes almost entirely pupil. _Now what_? Remus thought, and managed to summon enough coordination to slide a hand over Snape's face, into his hair, and down the ridge of his spine. Snape closed his eyes and settled back down, licking and kissing and humming quietly against Remus' neck as their hips settled into a more comfortable rhythm. After a minute Snape stiffened and came, and Remus thrust upwards once more as his own climax washed over him. _Happy Christmas to me_ , he thought, crossing his arms over the small of Snape's back, as his breathing slowed down and synchronized with Snape's, and he fell into a contented doze.

Sometime later he was awakened by Snape shifting above him, and felt the faint tingle of a _Scourgify_ on his stomach. _Hmm?_ he thought, and opened his eyes to find Snape looking at him intently, though not, oddly enough, scowling or sneering. 

"Did y'find out anything interesting?" he asked, shivering a little as Snape pulled away, and received another one-shouldered shrug in reply.

"Again, it would be . . . imprudent . . . to make determinations based on only one sample," Snape said, his eyes flicking from Remus' face to a point just over his shoulder. _You are a curious creature, Severus Snape_ , Remus thought, _but then I always did like a puzzle._

"Mmm, well, you can always investigate further tomorrow," Remus murmured, sliding an arm around Snape's waist and pulling him into a kiss that lasted until the fire had burned almost all the way down.


End file.
